


orange county

by frozennightmare



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Drinking Games, Fluff, Future Fic, Kid Fic, Multi, THE GANG IS OLD, THIS IS INDULGENT, ridiculous fluff, the gang goes to disney, what a mess of a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7258333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozennightmare/pseuds/frozennightmare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m just saying,” he says, and Jack wanders over from where he’s been staring mournfully into the fridge to look over his shoulder. “We parked ourselves right next to the happiest place on Earth. We should take the kids to D-”<br/>“Don’t say it.” Shitty warns.<br/>“Don’t say what?”<br/>“The D word.” He sits down at the stool next to Holster. “Kids have a radar for it. They know.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	orange county

**Author's Note:**

> listen.....this was written with one concept in mind and it was happiness.......  
> crosspost from my sideblog @bittermans

  
  
_Canadians are weak_ , Bitty thinks, as he rolls over to shift his position in the sun. It’s a clean ninety-three (fahrenheit because he’s not an animal) out, hot without being overbearing, far from the worst day the state of Florida will see this summer. He’s been living in the north with these wolves for so long he’d forgotten the taste of warmth on his skin, how it felt to bask in the sun like a cat all day. And he knows, for a fact, if he opens his eyes against the light he’ll be treated to the sight of Jack and Rans hiding out under the beach umbrella. Pa-the-tique.   
If they’d gone to Montreal for this vacation, as someone had suggested, he’d be the one on the receiving end of the chirping for marshmallowing up. But no. He was going to win this one for once, and they’d holed up in a beach house not far from Resortland. Because old college friends still went on vacations together fifteen years after they graduated, obviously.   
“Bits.” Lardo bashes him gently with her sketchbook, and he props himself up on his chair with an arm.   
He pushes the sunglasses off his head and squints at her through the glow of the sun. “Hmm?”   
“I think we’re about to get visited by the goddess of chaos.” she says, and looks back towards the house. On the front porch, William “the sun brings death upon me” Poindexter and Sydney “the AC is a gift, shut up dad, no i haven’t lived in the north for too long” Bittle are carefully deconstructing a Super Soaker.   
“Huh.” Bitty says. Dex is holding a two liter coke bottle in place while Sydney attempts to screw it where the old cartridge was. He’s pretty sure they’ve modded some electronics onto it. Super Soakers don’t usually glow like that.   
Sydney stands up and fires off a few rapid-fire shots into the air with a triumphant scream. She runs down the front steps with pandemonium in her eyes.   
Bitty cups his hands around his mouth. “Go get papa!” he yells. Sydney abruptly changes course from her cousins down by the water to the Canadian Cave of Shame.   
Lardo smiles and sits back in her chair, picking her pen back up. “Yeah, she totally doesn’t get it from you.”   
Bitty throws his sunglasses back on and slides into his chair. It is day six of nine of the Great Summer Vacation. He’s ascended into a plane of reality where everything is going his way.   
——-   
Later that night, when the kids have been distracted by a game of hide and seek and have mostly passed out in the living room and the adults coalesce in the kitchen to scrounge for pie leftovers, Holster sits down at the bar with his laptop and a plan.   
“I’m just saying,” he says, and Jack wanders over from where he’s been staring mournfully into the fridge to look over his shoulder. “We parked ourselves right next to the happiest place on Earth. We should take the kids to D-”   
“Don’t say it.” Shitty warns.   
“Don’t say what?”   
“The D word.” He sits down at the stool next to Holster. “Kids have a radar for it. They know.”   
As if by magic, the kiddos in the other room all turn to look. Amelia pokes her head up from her book.  Eliot stops playing what looks like a lazy game of catch with Marty. Gwen, who had apparently been asleep, sits up like a ghost from a horror movie. Holster has the sudden feeling he’s about to become the lone baby deer on a nature show. After a moment though, the kids lose the scent and go back to what they were doing.   
Shitty shrugs. “Told ya. Gotta be careful if we want to be able to plan without them on to us.”   
Holster gapes for a moment. “Uh- So anyways, I was thinking just me and Ransom could take them. Give the rest of you guys the day off.” he says.   
“Thank you,” Nursey mouths. He’s spent most of the past week holed up down by the beach, far away from the sandcastles and splashing in search of a little peace and quiet.   
“You sure?” Bitty asks. “Think the two of you can handle the whole pack?”   
Holster turns to look at Ransom, who is juggling a passed out two-year old in one hand and a glass of wine in the other with professional precision. He starts laughing into his hand.   
“We’re pros. We got this,” he says.   
“K, so I’m pa-” Jack starts, and is instantly cut off by four different people.   
“You’re no longer the only rich motherfucker in this room. We’ll split it.” Shitty says. Jack retreats back towards the relative safety of the fridge, sulking. “What are you thinking? Magic Kingdom?”   
“Six kids between the ages of ten and two versus It’s A Small World. Yeah, no. I don’t want our babysitters dead.” Dex is simply stating fact here.   
“Tommorow’s a Saturday. Star Wars Weekends are still a thing, right?” Ransom suggests.   
“Syd will shit herself, that’s a fantastic idea,” says Jack. “But Hollywood Adventure is mostly shows, right? You should do a different one in the morning, wear them out first. Isn’t Gwen still obsessed with Lion King?”   
“Yep,” Chowder says.   
“There you go. Wear them out on Animal Kingdom in the morning for your own health.”   
————   
In the middle of I Just Can’t Wait to Be King, Ransom feels a tug on his shirt.   
He looks over to see Eliot staring up at him with the most cruel, calculating set of Bambi eyes he’s ever seen. If he were a lesser man, he would be fooled by this. But he has been hanging around the Criminal Duo also known as the Duan Twins for long enough to know they have this down to a science. They have calculated the exact length of time to look pathetic before asking for something. They have rigorously tested the amount of times to beg. And they have field-studied the art of tag-teaming an unsuspecting parent.   
He will not be fooled.   
“We want to go to Expedition Everest,” Eliot says, except he can’t quite pronounce expedition right. “This is boring.”   
“That’s a rollercoaster. I’m not sure you two are tall enough.” Deflect and distract. Come on, Ransom.   
“Yes we are. Dad took us to Six Flags for our birthday last month and we got to go on almost all of them.” Amelia is sitting on the other side of him. Classic strategy. He’s trapped.   
“Sure you weren’t standing on your tiptoes?”   
“No,” they say in unison. How they can ever hear each other over the music in here is a mystery.   
“We have to wait til the show is over,” he tries. “Gwen wanted to see this, be nice to her.”   
“Uncle Adam can stay here with her,” says Eliot.   
“Yeah, and I heard you guys. You said we were gonna leave after this,” adds Amelia.   
He wonders if, at any point, Shitty ever sat his kids down and walked them through a mock trial. Because this- this is pure annihilating logic that should not be coming from a pair of eight year olds. Goddamn he should not be this manipulable.   
He looks over to Holster for support. “Babe, back me up here.”   
Holster looks back at him but doesn’t say anything. He’s too busy balancing Lota on his knee, talking into her ear as she tries to reach out towards one of the giraffes. Gwen and her brother are sitting next to him; Gwen eagerly bouncing along with the most awe-inspired look he’s ever seen on her face. Fuck, it’s one of the cutest things he’s ever seen, and if Holster can handle both their daughter and the younger kids he can deal with the dynamic duo for a minute.   
“We were planning on leaving after this, but we’re going to a different park, not home.” He pulls his phone out of his back pocket. “Let me check how long the line is.”   
Please be an hour, please be an hour. he prays. Amelia stands up in her seat so she can see the screen over his shoulder. She won’t be fooled.   
Fifteen minutes. Goddamn.   
“See? We can go,” Eliot says.   
Ransom sighs and fires off a quick text to Holster. “Ask Sydney if she wants to come too, ok?”   
He has been corralled. There is no fighting them. Ten minutes later he is standing in a mockup of a mountain.   
——--   
The rest of the day goes fairly well. Amelia and Eliot try to talk him into the Tower of Terror, but they are blissfully several inches too short. Sydney talks him into buying her a lightsaber and then straight up tries to fight the Kylo Ren character actor. (Holster has to drag her away, ignoring cries of “But he’s evil!” and several accidental whacks from a plastic blade.) The younger kids start passing out throughout the day; Lota goes down first in the middle of Beauty and the Beast. (Maybe he takes a nap too. No one has to know.) By the time they leave they’re carrying more kids than they’re leading.   
“I’m suddenly reminded of how strong I used to be,” Holster groans, struggling to keep Gwen up on his shoulders. “Bruh, what happened to us? This is fu-fricking pathetic.”   
“We started lifting kids instead of weights,” Ransom says. “What was I thinking, marrying an accountant? I should have just picked a hockey player. Farmer and Bitty have it made.”

“Hmm. I seem to remember you begging me to get the beach stuff off the top shelf yesterday morning because it was too heavy.” Holster stares at him through his glasses.

“Get him, Uncle Adam. ” Marty yawns. Chowder’s youngest is barely five (as he’ll tell anyone who listens), but he’d done a better job of keeping up today than Ransom would have expected. Marty leans up against his side, and he shifts Lota to one arm so he can free the other. Marty wraps one of his little hands around the first three fingers of Ransom’s now-free hand, and lets himself be dragged along. Ransom smiles at how adorable it is.

But he has chirping to return to.

“Fine. We’ve both succumbed. But I’m still superior to you.”

“Wanna prove that? We can fight it out later. ” Holster’s goal is to make him blush in front of children who have no idea what he’s talking about. Holster suceeds.

Ransom leans over and kisses his cheek in lieu of the eight things he’s thinking of saying when there’s no longer kids around.   
They both pass out on the bus back to the car lot, Ransom curling into Holster’s shoulder while Lota clings to his shirt. Sydney is the only one to stay awake all the way back out of sheer willpower.   
As soon as they get back and have all the kids tucked away in bed, Bitty accosts them with a plan.   
“Guys, look.” He shows them the page he has pulled up on his laptop: Epcot Bar Crawl.

“Hold up.” Holster groans. He starts fishing around on the kitchen counter for his glasses- he only just put them down a second ago, honest to God.

Ransom kicks the fridge door closed, last slice of the day’s pie already claimed. “Behind the map stack.”

“Oh, thanks.” He puts them back on and walks out to the living room, where most of the house has sort of collapsed. “Ok. Try me again. Epcot what?”

“Come on, Holster. Tell me you’ve been to Epcot before,” Bitty says.

“No.”

“Neither have I,” Chowder says. “Maybe once when I was little? Enlighten us.”

“Ok, so Epcot is easily the shittiest Disney park. Their main attraction is this fuck-off sized white sphere built in the eighties and the ride in it never works. I think they might have three rides total in the whole park. It sucks if you’re eight. But if you’re our age, there’s this,” Bitty pulls up a map of the park. “The World Showcase. Eleven country mockups around a pond. There’s food, overpriced souvenirs, and alcohol. A lot of alcohol.”

“Jesus Christ.” says Holster, scrolling down the list. “A drink for every country? I don’t think I could have done this when I was in college.”  
“For the record, I already called DD,” Jack says. He’s lounged out over the couch so long that there’s no room for anyone except Bitty, who’s sitting in the little spot next to hips.   
“Ok, I respect your decision, as long as you answer me this,” Ransom balances on the edge of the living room table. “Are you bitching out because you really don’t want to drink or because you don’t want to get caught belligerently drunk in the middle of Disney by some kid in a Falconers jersey?”   
Jack bites down hard on his lip, like he’s just been offered the choice between two equally angry cats. “Look, I know it’s Florida, but-”   
“Nah, good call. Bits, though. You’re ten times more likely to be recognized, and that is, that is science I did and didn’t invent ten seconds ago.”   
Bitty looks up with a smile. “I know my followers. They would be proud to find me in such a state.” He thinks on it for an extra moment. “Actually, I hope I get recognized, because I really want video of this.”   
“Ok,” Holster crashes down on the floor and finishes the little circle they’ve created. “So are we starting at Canada or Mexico?”   
Everyone starts yelling at once.   
Shitty throws his hands up. “Order! Order in the court!” He grabs his empty beer bottle and starts waving it like a gavel. “Ok. Jack, you don’t get a vote, you’re not drinking. Nursey?”   
“Canada. We need to ease it into it.”   
Shitty shifts the bottle to point at Ransom. “Rans.”   
“Canada. We need to rep the homeland, come on.”   
“And now for the other side of the aisle.” He walks over to Lardo and Bitty. “Opinions?”   
“Abstaining. I don’t care as long as there’s alcohol involved,” says Lardo.   
“Mexico,” says Bitty.   
“Come on, Eric, you married Captain Canada-” crows Nursey, betrayed.   
“Ok, ok, hear me out. We’re not gonna finish. I don’t think we’ll make it past Japan.” says Bitty. He stands up, arms folded in mock intensity.   
“Noooo!” Dex yells. “We can do it. I have faith in us.”   
“You, maybe.” says Chowder. “I haven’t drunk like that since college. Bitty’s got a point.”   
“You’re fucking lame, Chowder,” Dex grumbles, and sinks lower into his spot at the base of the couch.   
“So.” Bitty falls back down into his spot on the couch- nearly on top of Jack. “I want my goddamn margarita. The defense rests.”   
Shitty nods sagely. “Jury, can we take a vote? All for Mexico?”   
Everyone with the exception of Ransom, Nursey, and Dex raises their hand.   
“That’s an obvious majority. Court adjourned!” says Shitty.   
“We should start taking bets on when you all bitch out,” Nursey says, but is mostly ignored.   
—————   
That morning Johnson (who had flown down to visit the night before) offered to babysit for the day, citing “well someone needs to fill that plot hole, and the writer really didn’t want to have to write out Farmer” to the very confused former members of SMH.   
It’s odd, but Bitty laughs it off. It’s seven-thirty. He’s probably still in some sort of sleep-induced coma.   
He kicks back a coffee and heads out to the front porch, where Dex is covering himself in sunscreen like he’s a seventh grader with a can of Axe. It’s not quite hot yet, but already bright out, enough that he has to squint his eyes against it.   
“That enough or you want another bottle?” he chirps weakly. Dex responds by chucking the can at him.   
“I am prepared for the worst.” Dex says. “I am willing and ready to fight the sun.”   
Bitty picks up the can and does his face a little. He turns into the sun like a flower, pressing his hands against the porch railing and tilting his face towards into the radiative warmth.   
Jack pushes open the screen door behind him, mouth open wide. Whatever he was going to say gets lost in the choked sound he makes instead. Fifteen years they’ve been together and he can still stop this boy dead in his tracks with a tank top and short shorts. Where’s his award? He should get some kind of award for this.   
“Yes?” he says, making a point of leaning forward against the porch railing.   
“I-uh-” He gapes for a few seconds longer before pulling himself together, sliding into the space Bitty had left to his right and looping an arm around his waist. “Syd just woke up and was wondering where we were going. I just wasn’t sure if I should tell her. Cause we didn’t tell the younger kids we were going to Disney without them-”   
“She’s ten, I think she can handle it.” Bitty steps on his tiptoes to press a kiss to the underside of Jack’s chin. Jack laughs, some combination of bewildered and amused. “You call that a kiss?”   
“It’s early. Cut me a break.” He turns around and  pulls Jack in close enough to whisper in his ear. “I can’t believe this still works.”   
“I’m an easy man. I like blondes with cute butts,” Jack kisses him, sloppy and lazy in the early morning light. He is too tired to be precise; it’s been long enough they don’t worry about the execution all the time. What matters is the intent, the soft pulse of warmth the spreads through him like a cloud of fireflies. Who cares if they kiss messy in the mornings or fall asleep in the middle of sex sometimes. Jack still loves Bitty with everything he’s got.   
“Hey! Let’s go!” Shitty yells from the driveway. Jack looks up and snickers through his teeth.   
Shitty peers at him under his ridiculous hat. “You chirpin’ me, Bittle?”   
“No,” both Jack and Bitty reply.   
“Dude, what the fuck are you wearing?” Nursey opens the front door and bends over, cackling. “Oh my god.”   
Shitty tips his safari hat. “We are going on an adventure.”   
It’s a sight, alright. Jack didn’t know Shitty even owned that much khaki. He looks like a tour guide in the way a grape popsicle tastes like an actual grape. Lardo is only managing to look a little more fashionable, her olive green buttonup pushed up to her elbows to show off her tattoo sleeves.   
“Oh my fucking god,” Nursey crows. “You two are fucking dorks.”   
“Our kids love it,” says Lardo.   
“No, no, they think you’re dorks.”   
“Get in the shitmobile, asshole,” she commands.   
Dex’s face folds into a frown. “Why are we taking my car?”   
The Poindexter Rolling Wreck is an ancient minivan that has seen far too many miles in it’s life. The paint has long peeled up, from what was presumably once a pleasant blue, into straight shit brown.  He has been begged to replace it multiple times - by Nursey, by his siblings, by Sydney once (“Uncle Dex, how come you’re so good at fixing things but your car is terrible?”). Jack even offered to pay to replace it. But for some reason he refuses.   
“Because nobody’s going to break into it. Have you seen your car? Nobody looks at that and thinks there’s anything in it of value. There could be the corpse of Walt Disney himself in there and no one would think to look because your car is literally shit.” Shitty kicks at the passenger door until the automatic open kicks in and the door slowly wheezes its way away from the body of the car. “Drag the slow assholes out of the kitchen. I have a mission and that mission is to get shitfaced in the middle of a kid’s amusement park.”   
——-

  
MEXICO   
Dex stares wistfully at the white globe of Spaceship Earth as they walk past. “Sure you don’t want to hit a few rides first?” They’re charging through the early morning crowd, Shitty and Lardo leading the way like the self-proclaimed tour guides they are. The crowds of children and tired adults part wide around them. They can sense stupidity in motion, or, more accurately, the Spirit Of The Frat they’re misguidedly channeling.   
Nursey scoffs. “I don't feel like hanging out in a Future World that hasn't been updated since 2010.” His eyes flick over to the line already forming in front of that dumb hang glider ride. There are people in the fastpass lane. Who would even need a fast pass at Epcot? No one, in theory.   
“You love Tomorrowland!” Dex says.   
“Yeah, cause Tomorrowland is so old it's kitschy. It's endearing. This is just sad.” Nursery, with his hands squarely in his pockets, turns toward the old Test Track ride as they walk past. “I mean, look at this. Kids coming here don't even know what crash dummies are.”   
“Okay, you motherfucking hipster, by that logic we have to do Spaceship Earth,” says Dex.   
“Oh, fucking absolutely. But let’s do that after we’re plastered and lying down in a broken ride for an hour sounds like a good idea.”   
"Shit, you're probably right," Dex breaks off as he's facefucked by the overpowering scent of cinnamon churros. At nine-thirty the tsunami of kids hasn't really descended yet into this area of Epcot. They're all still in the rides, but the World Showcase is fucking ready for a bunch of small hyper children.   
Shitty stops them dead, bouncing on his toes and raising his voice. "Now, I’m aware y’all’s knowledge of Mexico comes from frat parties and two am Taco Bell. Which is sad. But unsurprising."   
"Is he really going through with this ridiculous gimmick?" Dex groans. "We're not eight."   
"No, because we spent too much time last night rounding up these outfits to actually do research." says Lardo. "I hear this place has a kicking tequila bar though. For those of us who aren't little bitches."   
Bitty finds his treasured margarita, a swirly, frozen, strawberry-mango pink-and-orange thing that is probably more sugar than tequila. He finds himself a corner in the bar, enjoying the reprieve from the already thickening sun.   
Caitlin sits down next to him, still wearing her sunglasses indoors. "While we’re still sober enough to think through it we should make a bet.”   
Lardo whips around from her spot at the main bar. "You summoned me?”   
“Wondering who’s getting recognized first- Chris or Jack?” Oh, Bitty hadn't thought about this.   
Chowder speaks up. "Jack, probably. He’s a way better player than I am." "Now that’s- come on," Jack says,  "- Chow, you’re one of the best goalies in the league right now-"   
Bitty shakes his head and takes a freezing sip out of his margarita. "Hon, he hasn’t won three cups. You have."   
"Yeah, we’ve only gotten knocked out of the playoffs six times." Bitty can taste the salt in Chowder's voice.   
"Hmm." Caitlin steeples her fingers thoughtfully. "I know this isn't an option, but I kind of want to say Bitty. Cause Jack and Chris are pretty far from home base right now, but your followers are fucking everywhere."   
"He's not a vote because it doesn't hurt him." Lardo says.   
"Then Jack." Caitlin says.   
Bitty thinks over it for another minute. "I think it'll be Chowder." he says. "You didn’t pull out for safety. Karma is coming for you."   
Lardo tips herself off her barstool and plants both hands on the table. "You are putting money on this, right? I will be disappointed in our friendship if you don’t."   
Jack sighs and cracks open his wallet. "Oh yeah."

  
  
NORWAY

They are in Norway for ten seconds before Holster starts humming Frozen under his breath and Dex threatens to throw in the lagoon.

“Hey, be nice around the kiddos.” Holster says, as a fourth little kid in an Elsa costume walks past them. “We are in public.”

As he’s finishing his sentence, Lardo and Shitty reappear with nine tiny blue plastic shot glasses balanced between them. Shitty has two of them precariously sitting on the brim of his plastic safari hat.

Lardo lines them all up on the picnic table. “Bottoms up, boys.”

“What are these?” Caitlin asks.

“No idea. King Disney calls them Glacier Shots. So we’ll find out.” Lardo grabs her own, fistbumps Shitty, and knocks it back. She makes the slightest of faces and reaches for her water.

“Bad?” asks Dex, cautious.

“Not too bad.” she says.

Bitty eyes her for another second. “Count off, boys?”

“Yeah.” says Ransom. “On three, two, one-”

The reaction is instantaneous and awful.

Bitty’s face screws up tight, and he shakes himself a second. “Oh sweet baby Jesus. I want my margarita back.”

“That came out of Satan’s asshole.” Dex groans, fishing for his own water and wishing he had something better to chase it with. Lardo is still chugging hers like she’s trying to drink away all her memories.

“You motherfucker.” Ransom hisses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, it’s not that bad.” Lardo says, but the vestiges of her own disgusted face are still hanging on.

They spend the next hour hanging around and counting Elsas (seventeen total). Shitty wanders into the gift shop and almost walks into the most god-awful troll statue he’s ever seen. There are a couple of questionable selfies posted to Instagram with the troll wearing his hat.

They go to leave and Lardo taps Shitty’s shoulder. “Bro, your hat is still on the troll.”

“I’m leaving it.” he says. “It looks better on the troll than this beautiful bun.”

Current death toll: one safari hat, Bitty’s dignity.

  
CHINA

Dex looks at their next round of drinks very suspiciously. “This is that plum wine?”

“What, were you expecting it to be purple?” Bitty has learned his lesson from Norway and went for the slushie version of the wine - “so I can hold onto the melted remains for a chaser”.

“I guess so, yeah.”

Caitlin goes for it first and nearly spits it everywhere from laughing. “What the fuck.” she giggles. “That’s like a juice box.”

Dex tries his. Well- she’s not wrong. It’s like someone made an alcoholic capri sun. “That’s fucking amazing. I want to just spend the rest of the day on this.”

“See, this is how we do, this is how you ease the kids onto it.” Chowder jokes, and gets elbowed in the ribs for it. “Hey kids, want one of mommy’s special juiceboxes?”

Ransom is leaned up against the lagoon railing. He has become all-encompassed with his phone, checking it every five seconds, not even touching his own drink. Holster watches him typing something out furiously and ignoring his perfectly good alcohol and starts to get a little worried.   
"What are you doing?" he asks. "Charting our consumption?"   
Random doesn't laugh, just hmms through his lips, which is never good. His eyes are drifting in a way that feels like coral reef.   
"Babe?" Holster asks.   
"Sorry- I'm just- texting Johnson. Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry.”

Holster had been doing the same thing two seconds ago. “Jesus. We making this a race? Who can freak out about our kid the fastest?”

“You know I gotta win everything.” Ransom says.  He puts his phone away in his pocket.

“ _Justin.”_ Holster sighs. “Less drinking, more moping- _fuck-_ less-”

“This is three.” Ransom stares into his cup like he’s looking straight into the void. “ _What the fuck did kids do to us._ We used to be legends. Fucking frat legends!”

He braces himself and downs it like he’s taking a shot.

“Was that a good idea?” Holster asks seriously. He’s considering just bullrushing through the next six countries.

“No. Oh god, no. But I have to retain some dignity.”

“Hey assholes!” Lardo yells, about two levels too loud for noon on a Sunday. “It’s lunchtime and I want to see who can fit the most egg rolls in their mouth. For science.”

 

GERMANY

If BItty dies surrounded by shitty German beer hall music, he will be disappointed in his life as a whole. Nothing would have been worth it. Not even the trophy husband and his glorious ass. He should be going down surrounded by his queen or his own personal Jay-Z, not this Oktoberfest-infused hell.

“Oh god.” He stares into his half-finished beer, his face starting to get flushed around the edges. “This was fun four hours ago. Now it’s like I’m drinking for work or something. This is a chore.”

“One to ten, how much of a mistake was this?” Caitlin asks.

“Like a solid four.” Where’s Jack? Lame asshole. He was here like- two, three seconds ago?

He hooks his feet under the lower rung of the bar stool and pushes himself up to see around the room. Jack is talking to Chowder- bless his  _heart,_ are they talking about hockey in the middle of Disney- well, actually, it’s more of Jack talking and Chowder nodding along like he’s the most interesting storyteller on the planet.

In the next booth over from them there’s a small kid, maybe ten or twelve, eyeing them with a look of awe on his face.

Bitty kicks Caitlin under the table a couple of times.

“Ow, what the fuck, Bits. What do you want?”

“Kid. Over there.”

She leans around him. “Yep. I see him. Usual protocol?”

Bitty nods and takes one last drink out of his beer to steel himself. He slides in the booth next to Jack, pushing their sides together as obscenely as he can get away with in public. He throws an arm over Jack’s shoulders. “Honey,” he purrs, and sits there, craning up to whisper in Jack’s ear.

“What are you doing?” he asks, watching Caitlin doing much the same.

“Interception.” Whoever the little kid was staring at, he seems uninterested now. Bitty flexes his hand against Jack’s thigh under the table, enjoying the way Jack flinches.

“I thought we had a bet.” Jack says, voice cracking.

“Oh yeah.” He’d forgotten about that. He’d rather keep making Jack hiss and watch him look panickedly around the room when he pads his fingers on the inside edge of Jack’s shorts.

“Honey, please.” Jack sounds fucking wrecked already. “We’re in public.”

“Sorry.” Bitty says, and drags it out, syrupy, as he removes his hand.

(Farmer highfives him across the table.)

  
  
ITALY

Nursey decides to up it a few levels and goes through several glasses of prosecco. Ransom and Holster wander off and start humming Les Mis even though they’re in Italy and will probably not make it to France.

 _We are adults with children,_ Jack thinks mildly, going through his second liter of water for the day. He drags Dex away from the lagoon to stop him cursing out “the fucking asshole bullfrogs, think they own the place” in front of several amused yet terrified teenagers. As he walks away, he hears one of the teenagers whisper to their friends _holy shit, he’s got an ass for an old guy._ (Old? What the fuck. He’s thirty-eight.)

Jack gently nudges one of Bitty’s hands off him for the fourth time and changes his mind. No, he’s an adult, and all his friends are _fucking children._

  
  
AMERICA   
The breaking point is when, as they sit down for dinner, Chowder puts his head on the table and goes out cold.

“That’s it?” Bitty whines. “We didn’t even make it halfway.”  His face is bright and flushed red.

“It’s Norway.” Lardo groans. “That killed me dead. Jack was right, we should have started with his maple bullshit beer.”

Jack says nothing. He’s still gloating so hard Bitty can feel it from across the table. Somewhere, a shitty acapella version of Firework is playing.

“I told you.” Nursey says. “Canada would have treated us right.”

“Canada already treats me right.” says Bitty. “I just can’t believe I’m getting fucked by my own country.” He very gently knocks his head against Jack’s shoulder. “Chowder, my sweet innocent Chowder, why you gotta do this to me-”

Shitty leans across the table and very cautiously pets Chowder’s head. Chowder opens his eyes, groans, and then closes them again.

  
  
SPACESHIP EARTH  
The ride breaks down right below Michalangelo lying on his back. Behind them, a couple of kids groan and start climbing out of their seats. The prerecorded voiceover cuts in for a moment as a ride attendant states they'll be under way shortly.   
Bitty wiggles over as far as he can in his seat and tucks his head under Jack’s chin. He drapes one hand across Jack’s lap and pulls his phone out with the other.   
Jack bends his head forward in response and rests his chin in Bitty’s hair. Bitty’s let it grow out in the past few weeks, moving from his perfectly maintained undercut. It's especially long on the top, cast into a down yellow made soft from days of the water and the sun.   
Jack moves his hand to sit over Bitty’s tan one, tracing the pads of his fingers against Bitty’s knuckles. Bitty hums happily under him, more of a dozy drunk than a flirty one at this point.   
He realizes, vaguely, that he is in his thirties and cuddling with his husband on a kid’s ride. But it's nice in the half-light of the overheads and he doesn't really care. He'd neck in the middle of It’s A Small World if given the chance.   
Bitty snorts and shifts his phone so Jack can read it over his shoulder.   
Lardo: this so ducking stupid  
Lardo: this ducking ride keeps breaking down   
L: you think after near daily repairs they'd take the ducking-  
L: FUCK  
L: WHY DOES MY PHONE KEEP AUTOCORRECTING TO DUCK  
L: LET ME FUCKING SWEAR  
Bitty: wouldn't be surised if disney hada filtre  
B: they knooooow   
L: DUCK  
L: FUCK IT DID IT AGAIN   
Jack laughs and buries his nose in Bitty’s hair and kisses the top of his head a few times.   
It takes them an hour to get the ride back up.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 


End file.
